


Arnsugr, or How Skadi Got Her Grudge

by llassah



Category: Norse Mythology, Runemarks Series - Joanne Harris
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 15:18:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llassah/pseuds/llassah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A retelling of the encounter between the giant, Thiassi, and Loki, over some uncooked meat and Idun's magic apples.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arnsugr, or How Skadi Got Her Grudge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GloriaMundi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriaMundi/gifts).



 

 

They had been travelling for days, over the mountains and across the deserts. The General called it an adventure. Loki called a part of it an adventure, but the majority of it boring. Hoenir, their companion, kept his counsel, as he was slow to form thoughts and even slower to voice them. Loki, however, voiced them, and continued to voice them as they went across endless desert. His glam was low, his feet ached, his belly was full of a gnawing hunger. Odin ignored his complaints, striding ahead in his ten league boots, needing little to sustain him except for mead. For his part, Loki was glad to get out of Asgard for a bit, travel the old paths, lay low for a little while. There was the little…entanglement he had with dear Angie, Sigyn being so patient with him he could scream, and a few deals, wagers and arrangements turned sour that were beginning to have consequences, so an adventure seemed like a _marvellous_ idea. Besides, he was perpetually curious. Who could blame him for wanting to get out into the world?

It was a good idea, this adventure, at the start, but as time went on, the food became scarce. They could have conjured some, but it just wouldn’t have had the same savour to it, and would turn to ash in the stomach if it was done wrong. They wouldn’t _die_ , but it was an unpleasant experience, hungering so, especially this far from Asgard and Idun’s healing apples, the mead that never ran dry and the boar that never remained dead, the orchards with branches groaning with fruit and—

He closed his eyes with a quiet moan.  

After an eternity more of walking, they came across a herd of oxen, and they managed to kill one as the herd scattered to the four winds.

It was a nice sized ox, big and stupid from good living, and the cooking fire was warm in the pit, and Loki sat expecting the smell of cooking flesh to rise from it, but the tang of blood stayed in the air, and when they broke open the cooking pit, it was raw. Hoenir stayed amiably vacant. Loki’s hunger was starting to rule his belly, and he cast fire runes at it, fanned the flames with a few cantrips, closed up the pit again and paced in front of it.

Odin, for his part, leaned back against a large tree and lit a pipe. His one eye twinkled from beneath the brim of his hat, and Loki felt a familiar surge of affection mingled with that old, familiar irritation. Damn his one eye to Hel. Hoenir lay back and stared at the stars, but Loki could not. Fire gnawed at his belly and he scowled and paced. From the branches of the tree, an eagle watched. A large eagle. Once more, he opened the fire pit. Once more, the meat was cold, raw bloody flesh. Loki formed bjarkán, revelation, to see what was going on, then kicked at the sand in anger. There was a net of runeworkings, naudr and isa, cast in a grid around the pit, strength and simplicity in their execution. The fire would not be touching the meat while the net lasted. “Well, this is rather jolly,” he muttered, kicking at the sand some more for good measure. “Lost your fire?” Hoenir asked, his voice mellow and quiet, pleasant to listen to.

“It won’t cook, damn it to Hel. It’s been tampered with.”

Odin formed bjarkán, too, looked at the pit for long moments. Above them, the eagle called out into the night sky, and Loki glanced at it, then stared. Hunger was addling his mind, but he could see now how big the eagle was, the colours and runes around him.

“Well met, wildfire.”

The eagle’s voice was both a croak and a rumble. Loki sketched a bow. “Well met, Lord Giant,” he said cordially. Chances were, he was related to the ice giant in some convoluted way.

“I assume this has something to do with you?” Odin called up, stirring from his seat at the trunk of the tree. There was a rumble of laughter that shook the branches. _Giants_.They delighted in the simplest of tricks. Odin and Hoenir moved to flank him, their travelling garb tattered and dusty. Loki kept glancing at the firepit, looking for a way out of the net. Its weapons were simplicity and strength, and while Loki could probably blast the net out of the way, it would char the ox beyond meat to ash.

“Aye, traveller. And I will release the net if you promise to give me my fill of the meat.”

Odin put a hand on Loki’s shoulder as words sprang to his tongue in anger and hunger. “Agreed. Might I know who I have the honour of addressing?” he asked as Loki seethed.

“Thiassi, Lord of the Ice Giants,” he said, and with a sweep of his wing the flames began to touch the meat, Loki covered the fire pit and they waited.

Given time, of course, he would have broken the net. Given help, it would be the work of a minute to undo the net. They’d be eating by now. Odin and the giants, though…it was one of his damned diplomatic balancing acts, and Loki sometimes wanted nothing more than to tip the scales and watch it all crash down. Hoenir opened up the pit and the smell of the cooked meat made Loki’s mouth water and his stomach tighten. Food. He could eat more than any living thing, given the chance. He had sired the devourer, after all.

“My share, remember?”

Hoenir nodded slowly, and with that Thiassi swooped down, took as much as his claws could carry, two thighs and both shoulders, all that was good in the animal, and Loki sprang, full of rage and malice, a stick in one hand and runes in his other, tyr, naudr, isa and ur, sinking stinging barbs into the bird’s flesh with a snarling howl, thrusting a sharp stick into his side. For Loki, born of chaos, the son of a forest fire in summer, old habits died hard.

Thiassi launched himself into the air with a shriek with Loki holding fast, the meat still in his mouth, flesh and fur flying past their heads as Thiassi tore it apart in flight. The eagle flew swiftly and low, and Loki hit rocks and trees, the sand skinning his knees, arms nearly wrenched out of their sockets. He was bound to Thiassi, a trap of his own making as Odin and Hoenir threw runes that flew harmlessly past Thiassi’s head or stung Loki’s arms and torso. Worse still, Thiassi began to speak, in a croaking, booming voice that shook Loki’s bones as he twisted and strained. “I name you Loki, child of chaos, keeper of the fire, sky traveller, Faurbauti’s son, begetter of serpents—”

They flew for miles. Of course, Loki tried to untangle himself, but the remains of Thiassi’s net and his own runes snared him and his hands stuck fast to the stick. 

“—father of wolves, trickster, father of lies, sire of half-born hel, fire bringer, architect and destroyer of worlds, archangel—”

 He threatened, he cajoled.

“—fallen one, opener of forbidden doors—“

He screamed, wheedled, pleaded. Eventually, he begged.

“—  Builder of the citadel, dogstar, lighter-than-air,  wildfire, stitch-lips—”

“ _Please!”_

Ofcourse he begged. In the end, he even promised. He knew of old that the giants only wanted three things from Asgard: Freyja, Idun, and Mjolnir, and it appeared that Thiassi wanted to live forever.

Luckily, Idun was the easiest to entrap. She lacked any sort of suspicious streak. ‘Idun, pearl of my heart,’ was all it took, the promise of better apples was enough to tempt her and she followed him like a child in search of them, as had been agreed. She took her own casket of apples, of course. How else would she compare them? Thiassi snatched her from the glade just as she turned to ask Loki where the apples where. He almost felt bad about that, for a few seconds.

It took the others a while to notice. They knew she wasn’t around, of course, but she had been known to sit staring at a particular tree for a whole week without moving. Such wandering was not out of the ordinary. It was when Thor began to groan as he got up, and Freyja started to notice that the skin between her breasts was becoming wrinkled and papery, and Bragi’s fingers ached when he spanned difficult chords, and Odin had the first hangover of his long and drink-filled life that they started to wonder. Then they started to talk, and naturally suspicion fell on him. It generally did, in the end.

As Idun had only really been loaned to Thiassi, Loki did not wait until the torture began to tell the truth. Besides, he was beginning to lose his edge, and if there was one thing he relied on, it was his wits. Forgetting why he had entered a room was the beginning of the end.

“Look, my shoulders were hurting, I was trapped! What would you have had me do? Besides, I can get her back, I swear. I have a plan.”

“A plan! How does that help when I have brown spots on my hands, white streaks in my hair, wrinkles— _wrinkles_ —around my eyes!”

“Now, Freyja, be reasonable—“

“Dogstar, I’m warning you,” Heimdall said, soft and dangerous. His teeth gleamed in the torchlight. Loki met Odin’s eyes and knew he would find no allies in this room. He glanced at the floor then back at Freyja.

“I will get her back, but on one condition.”

“You are hardly in the position to impose conditions on us.” Heimdall arched his brow, adjusted the spear that pointed at Loki’s heart.

“It depends how much you want her restored to you. How much your beauty means to you. Your voice, Freyja, that can bend men to your will. Those breasts, so firm and white, and the softness of your belly. Your supple skin, your lush lips and long eyelashes, your hair gleaming in the sunlight—“

“Fine! What is your condition?” Freyja exclaimed at last, stamping one foot on the ground.

“A small thing, but a useful one. Your falcon cloak,” he said and watched as all the Aesir told her not to, and watched as she brought one hand up to her cheek, because if there was one thing he knew, it was vanity.

“Take it,” she said over the sound of argument, and cut the rope around his wrists, settled the cloak around his shoulders. Feathers tickled his skin as the shape settled over him, and he was off, swift as thought, out of the high window before anyone could think of stopping him. The speed of his form was intoxicating; the runes were more so, the disguise of it sending bright trails behind him. Thiassi would welcome a falcon wearing Freyja’s enchantments so prominently, at least at first.

Luck was with Loki that day. Thiassi was out fishing on the ice, a particular habit of giants and dwarves alike, though the catches differed somewhat in size. Idun was in a courtyard of the castle, blossom trees around her, roots ripping through paving and vines twining around the low benches that encircled it. Idun lay in a bower, listening as the birds sang in the whistling wind against the snow.

“Loki,” she said with a smile when he shifted forms. “He has no apples, you must have made a mistake.”

Loki kissed her on the cheek. “Tricked you, sorry love. No hard feelings, eh? How about a bit of apple, and we’ll get you out of here.”

Idun opened her casket and Loki smelled honey and summer, the promise of the blossom and dew in the morning. One bite and he was restored. He kissed her on the other cheek. “Now, how to carry you,” he murmured, then shifted her into an acorn, put on his feather cloak on and was in the air before she had even opened her mouth to answer.

There is a particular word for the sound that an eagle’s wings make as they fly. _Arnsugr_ , Eagle-suck, or, as Bragi would have it, the susurration of a wing in motion in the air. Loki was rather more accustomed to the sound than he would like to be. Thiassi’s wings sounded like thunder, and the sound was getting closer with every league Loki travelled, Idun in his claws. He was getting tired, even with the apple still singing through his veins. The citadel was a speck on the horizon, then a dot, and then he could make out buildings and hoped that someone had even a part of a working brain, that they were prepared for this, because Thiassi was within a wingspan of his tail, and the sound of _arnsugr_ filled his ears.

Closer still to Asgard, nearly within the walls, and he could see a flame on the ramparts of the citadel, and armour gleaming in the sun as he swooped. Thiassi was so close behind that Loki could feel his beak snapping at his tail. Hoping that he had timed it right, he feinted, then dived down, down and over the wall of the fortress, swerving to avoid the outcrops of stone, just as the scent of woodsmoke started to fill the air and the woodshavings on the wall caught fire and started to burn. Thiassi followed him in his dive, and, blinded by the smoke, didn’t pull up in time, knocking his wing on the wall as he caught fire. Burning feathers have a very particular smell. Thiassi shrieked and plummeted, caught halfway between eagle and giant, and hit the ground with a thud.

The Aesir and Vanir wasted no time finishing him off, old as they were. When it was done, mighty Mjolnir clanged on the courtyard stones and Thor leaned on the handle, mopping his brow. Loki watched as he lay on the wall and gasped for breath. Thankfully, Thiassi had not harmed a feather on Freyja’s cloak.

When Idun was restored to her form, she wept a little for Thiassi, because she was ridiculously, stupidly kind. She even forgave Loki in a heartbeat. When the clamour for her apples started to seem as if it would become a chance to reignite old feuds, Frigga drew her away from the rest of the Aesir and Vanir and sat next to her in a courtyard garden, telling the assembled Gods that they would only get their apples if they were patient. Loki, watching from the wall, sniggered as an orderly queue formed. Odin took one last of all, but the only real difference to him would be the lack of hangovers. Now that his adversaries had been restored to full strength, Loki decided to make himself scarce for a few days, and resolved to travel to his home when he had summoned the energy.

His home was in a high place, overlooking a waterfall. It was easy to see approaching enemies, easy to escape from. Only the General knew it was there, and he could come and find him if he was needed. He sat outside, watching Thiassi burn on a pyre in the courtyard, with full ceremony. Someone came and blocked the light from the fire. "Loki, my captain," Odin said quietly as sounds floated across the courtyard. Inside the hall there was feasting. Loki looked up at him and smiled, shrugging his shoulders. This conversation was one that they would have time and time again. "There'll be trouble from this."

"Not too much. He had few friends. The usual scramble for territory will die down, soon."

Odin made a small sound of frustration, shifted from one foot to the other. "He has a daughter, Skadi."

Loki gave him his best smile. "Skadi. I have little to fear from her," he said, and felt a sliver of fear as Odin said nothing. "What's the worst she can do?"

Odin stayed quiet, shook his head, and walked back to the feast. Loki sat back, flames from the fire flickering shadows onto the wall, and waited for trouble.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, B, for the beta. I am beyond grateful.


End file.
